


It Takes a Muscle to Fall in Love

by ToTheTeeth



Category: Spies In Disguise (2019)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Trauma, Two sentences away from smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23935465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToTheTeeth/pseuds/ToTheTeeth
Summary: After Killian escapes from prison, Walter tracks him down and decides to meet in incognito and persuade him to work a deal with the agency. A possible suicide mission turns into something completely unpredictable.
Relationships: Tristan McFord/Walter Beckett, Walter Beckett/Killian
Comments: 26
Kudos: 162





	1. Is it cool on your island?

The ferry sailed swiftly through the deep blue Croatian sea, slowing down as it entered the bay, the idyllic coastal town of Vis came into view: a small collective of old creamy white brick buildings and orange tiled roofs overlooking the bay, surrounded by smooth green hills that resembled the very waves below. Seagulls soared towards the smell of fish that came with the salty breeze, a brief relief from the morning sun standing proudly in the spacious blue sky. Summer was on high. 

Walter held the rail tightly, he wasn't sea sick, but the fishy smell combined with the sounds of a fellow passenger was making certainly stirred his empty stomach. He carried himself far away and lingered by the ferry's entrance, hoping to be the first one out, light on baggage – a backpack and a small carry-on - it would not make sense to be stuck behind the large groups of tourists and their rented cars full of stuff.

Hungry, parched and overheating, he anxiously waited for the ferry to dock, jumping at the first opportunity to leave. Once his sneakers landed on firm ground, Walter eagerly put a start to his super secret mission, a mission so confidential that only he alone knew of. Under the guise of a vacation, he set out to find the escaped prisoner he had been hunting for over a year. The H.T.U.V had come out empty, but not Walter.

He traveled down the bay, crossing buildings hundreds of years old, some looked the part, others had been cared for and appropriated for modern life with contrasting store signs and A.C units, but that was kept to a minimum as to not break the “immersion”. He walked through steep roads with little shade, deeply regretting not renting a car, sometimes his eagerness tunneled his vision. He followed his phone's GPS, zoomed tightly to assist in traversing the narrow alleys that lead him to his inn, camouflaged as every other building around him save from a tiny faded sign above the door that he had passed minutes ago and had to be pointed by a local that seemed to be more than used to it.

He was greeted warmly by the innkeeper, a broad woman with a broader smile, she had called him “the cutest thing she had ever seen” with a thick accent and a warmness that made him feel welcomed. She showed him to his room, ending her sentences with Croatian words that he deduced from her tone were pet names like “dear”, or “cutie pie”, or so he wanted to believe.

The two of them were already a crowd in the small room. The bed took most of the space, a large, thick mattress wrapped in beige covers and two fluffy pillows in rather tacky floral print cases. The small dresser sat before it, leaving only a narrow gap in between, with an old TV on top. The dim lamp did little to brighten the room, most of the light came from the window with a nice open view, standing above the neighbors' buildings, facing a large hill. The only thing that really upset him was the low ceiling, but he nodded when the nice woman asked if he was satisfied with the room, after all, it looked cozy and clean. She then pointed to the bathroom at the end of the hallway, narrow and old, and he wasn't fond of sharing with the other guests, but he let it be.

Once the inn keeper had left him, Walter began to unpack. He had brought eight shirts, one hoodie, two pants, swim trunks, a bunch of underwear and socks, flip-flops, pajamas, an extra pair of sneakers, towels (he hated using the ones from hotels) and a toiletry bag. The basics, all rolled and neatly arranged as taught by a nice Japanese lady from a TV show he was obsessed with. His equipment gathered in a small pouch, all disguised as innocent items, he was a spy after all (the thought still put a smile on his face). His laptop, multi pen, sunscreen and snacks were all that he had in the backpack. The dresser had only enough space to open half of a drawer, and he managed to fit it all in the top one.

He took a much needed shower, the spray was very narrow - even for his thin stature - and weak, specially compared to the fire hoses he was used to in the 5 star hotels Lance insisted they stayed, but Walter was never one that asked for much, even after all the time spent with his fancy, demanding partner. Why would someone need five shower heads working at once?

Back in his room he applied sunscreen as he waited for his computer to boot. The inn was one of the few that had wi-fi, the reason he chose it over others (and he didn't need the attention of the fancy smart hotels). The speed was painfully slow, but connecting to the agency's satellite network could expose him and his activities. Nobody knew he was there, he faked his passport, only used live cash and had bought a new phone. Lance or Marcy could find him in less than an hour, without a doubt, he was sure to had made a mistake somewhere along the way, but they had no reason to look for him, for all they knew he was in Ibiza on a much needed vacation. He had also a contingency plan, were he not to return within five days his location would be sent to them along with his plans. It was a dangerous mission after all, but he had faith he would succeed.

The ordinary handheld fan turned into a satellite dish antenna he placed on the window sill and connected to his laptop via Bluetooth, which created a network with his smartphone. He then proceeded to hijack every antenna little by little until a reading of the island was created, he tapped to a specific frequency and waited for it to unravel. Within five nail biting minutes, a signal appeared, Walter nearly jumped from his seat. He put on a new shirt and his sneakers, shoved his laptop and the fan in the backpack, and left the room. With a brief “see you later” to the inn keeper, he ran off to the streets, following in a quick pace the route created in his GPS.

He arrived breathless at the bus stop with just enough time to buy a ticket and enter the crowded bus before it closed its doors and drove away. He sat next to the bored locals while the tourists formed a wall by the windows taking pictures of the countryside, the sunburned grassy hills, olive fields, and the flourishing vineyards, chatting and enjoying the breeze while he continued to sweat and grow hungry, so he munched on a small toblerone, his eyes fixed on the small pulsating dot on the phone's screen. The passengers exclaimed in awe when the hills opened and revealed the glistening sea in the horizon and the town of Komiza by the shore, the sound of cameras shutters became incessant. The road was curvy and narrow, the bus slowed considerably to traverse the dangerous curved slopes. The trip, however, ended incredibly fast, confirming what he had read in the plane and almost didn't believe: it took less than 20 minutes to cross the island.

He politely waited for the locals to leave first, as they seemed to be quiet eager to get away from the tourists that moved like molasses. The dot on his phone moved ever so slightly, his target wasn't on the run, Walter's intrusion remained undetected.

The new town was nearly identical as the previous, but smaller and more crowded by pockets of tourists wandering around. Walter wandered the maze-like streets, thankful that it wasn't as confusing and steep as the ones in Vis. The signal wasn't entirely accurate, he dreaded having to go house by house to find the one he looked for.

He walked into an alley, trying to hone in into the little dot, when suddenly he was brought on his knees by a hard blow on his leg and was pushed down against the warm concrete. The worn sole of a leather boat shoe pinned his face to the pavement, placing upon him a grueling pressure, he tasted warm blood where his teeth bit his cheek. Walter could only see the shadow of his attacker, but he knew exactly who it was.

“Haven't we been in this position before?” The husky voice with a strong Australian accent asked calmly, the shoe squeezed his face like a bug. He hummed delightfully at Walter's squeak, “Where are your little pigeons now, hmm? I haven't seen any around here... or are you going to sic seagulls on me this time?”

“Killian!” Walter cried out and grasped at the man's strong calves. The pressure on his face lightened, he spat blood before he spoke, “I'm alone,” he grunted, “no pigeons, no seagulls, no Lance. Just me.” The man chuckled at his answer. “It's true!”

The sound of laughter and chattering echoed down the alley. The man pulled away from him, grabbed his hair and forced Walter to stand, before pushing him further down the alley, away from the street and prying eyes, taking the backpack from him.

“How did you find me?” The man backed him up against the wall, lifting him up by his collar with ease. Walter studied him, Killian looked older, his salt and pepper hair was more salt than pepper, he had a tan and wrinkles had replaced the dark circles around his eyes, his forehead creased with his frown, it had only been 3 years since they last saw each other, but time wasn't kind to him. From up close he could spot some inconsistencies on his left, how the holographic technology smoothed the aging a bit as if it was under a soft beauty filter, and he wandered if Killian was more sensitive than he let on. The pressure placed by the stronger man's arm against his chest broke his chain of thought, a glimpse of red sparked from the robotic eye.

“Your internal system and holographic projections have an unique electromagnetic signature, I had it archived from the time I hacked you. I first found it in the Czech Republic and kept monitoring it for months, every small trace of it like a trail of crumbs until it lead me here,” Walter explained rather eagerly, like a school project he knew would get him an A. Killian cursed, pushing him hard against the wall and pulled away, letting Walter fumble to his feet, “Don't worry! It was all done covertly, the agency is not aware of it!”

Killian turned to him with disbelief, glaring at the younger man standing before him with his hands raised and an earnest bloody smile on his face, the young man that had spared his life and nearly sacrificed his own to do so. Killian had spent a long time in prison wondering why? Maybe the boy was just naive, silly. He scanned him from head to toe, Walter had gained some muscle, but he remained soft, with his colorful sneaker and polka dot socks pulled up, and specially his big blue eyes that haven't lost that innocent glow. “No one knows you're here?” Walter shook his head. Silly little boy. Killian reached for his ankle, raised his pants and pulled a knife from the hidden holster, he swayed the sharp black blade before the boy, toying with him, finally Walter had shown some concern, “So you're telling me that you came here alone, without your agency's knowledge or a way to track you down?” His smug showed the predator within him ready to pounce.

“I have a contingency plan!” Walter warned, “If something happens to me, Lance will know!”

“Oh Sterling!” Killian cheered, “Let him come then, by the time he lands in this island all he will find is that his little partner got tangled to a pile of rocks while diving in a cove.” He cornered the boy, chuckling at his panic, likely regretting his idiotic plan.

“Please,” Walter cried, “I'm not here to arrest you, I just want to talk.” He pleaded, Killian laughed at the request. “The agency will track your frequency, they will find you out eventually, you'll get arrested again or you will spend your entire life on the run! We can work something out! I know you used to work with Lance!”

Killian lunged at him, the tip of the knife pressing against his pudgy cheeks, flushed and warm from the sun, a droplet of blood slid down the blade, Walter hissed. “Don't speak of what you don't know, boy,” he whispered on Walter's ears, and felt the boy's body shiver, his soft hands landed on his chest with a plea to let him go. Killian resisted.

“I know what happened in Kyrgyztan, I understand why you're angry!”

Killian interrupted him with a knee to the stomach that blew the air from his lungs, but the man kept the grip strong, delighting in Walter's struggle for air, squirming under his hold. The boy's spirit turned his anger into pure sadism. “What do you understand of war, boy? Of betrayal? Of being disposed mercilessly once your filled your purpose?” He looked Walter right in the eyes, “You're just a sheltered suburban child,” he felt Walter's heated, nervous breathing on his skin, it smelled of chocolate, “that needs to pretend the world is a good place because its the only way he can cope with the loss of his mother.” The tears that had held to Walter's eyes began to flow freely, the urge to lick them unnerved Killian, “That's right, I looked you up, I had to understand why you didn't let me die. Tell me, would you have done the same to the man that shot her?” Walter sobbed loudly. Killian waited for an answer, after a moment of silence he laughed and stepped away. Walter crumbled on the ground, trembling violently.

“It doesn't have to end in violence,” Walter said, wiping away his tears.

“If she had shot him, she would still be alive,” Killian groaned, growing tired of his stubborn ideology.

“But she didn't, because he was scared, he was strung out, he needed help,” he continued.

Killian crouched before the boy, a pang of guilt in his consciousness, the poor really didn't understand the world, “And what happened, did he get help? Did he get clean?” He waited for a response, “No, he was thrown in jail and left to rot, and the same thing would've happened regardless if your mother was still alive or not. No one helped him. That's how the system works.”

His mother had never given up on misguided souls, neither would he, the fact that Killian hasn't killed him yet meant he had a chance, he just needed to press on. “But maybe I can help you,” he whispered, words almost lost to the wind that gushed through the narrow passage.

Killian's heart missed a beat, suddenly all the dots were connected, the silly boy's rationale made some sense, enough for Walter to cling to it so firmly. “Please give me five days, let me change your mind, if I don't I'll leave, and pretend this never happened, I'll delete all my data on you, but I can't promise the agency won't find out on their own eventually,” he spoke with resolve. Killian stared at him, the boy was absolutely sincere, he never felt more open to trust someone before. The range of emotions Walter made him feel frustrated him since he landed unharmed on that shore enveloped by that weird bubble. He sighed with resign and nodded, flinching at the jump of excitement from the young man.

Killian straightened his linen shirt, he looked at boy smiling at him, “So what now?”

“Now we eat!” Walter exclaimed and wiped the smudge of blood from his wound, acting like the man hadn't just threatened to kill him, grabbed his backpack, “Any recommendations?”

“What?” He asked, astounded by the way the boy completely ignored that he was nearly killed.

“Well, I'm starving. Why don't we talk over food, uh? That's a great way to unite people.”

“No, I'm not going to have brunch with you, kid.”

“To be honest I think I'm passing out?” Walter confessed with a comic tone, “I really need to seat down and eat something.”

Begrudgingly, Killian drove him to a sea food restaurant by the marina's boulevard, threatening to drop Walter by the roadside if he fainted, the boy was ghastly and breathed laboriously. They sat at a table far away from the noisy, wine drunk Italian family, at an outdoor area covered only by a thin tent flowing with the breeze, the waves lazily broke and crashed against the wall beneath them. The waiter came quickly, apparently familiar with Killian, but addressed him by Mr. McFord. After a brief concern over Walter, he took their orders. Killian ordered a lobster, but Walter wanted something local, the waiter recommended a dish of _crnit rizot_ , a black risotto made of squid and cuttlefish, Walter was so hungry that anything at that point sounded good. Killian asked for his usual glass of wine, Walter settled for an iced tea. The waiter handed him a salt shaker, Walter poured it on the back of his hand and licked it like a tiny fawn.

As they waited, the young man felt Killian's owl like gaze bore into him, he smiled and giggled awkwardly in response. “So,” Killian began, “What's your offer?” He propped an arm at the chair next to him, his broad chest puffed proudly, the chest hair poking from his shirt – the first three buttons unbuttoned – stirred Walter's stomach more than the hunger. Killian looked so relaxed, so casual, hair flowing with the sea breeze, a hand slowly twirling the glass of wine.

Walter had a speech prepared, but he expected different circumstances, he would corner Killian after an island-wide chase, then lower his multipen as a sign of peace and deliver his heroic speech while extending a merciful hand to help him stand. Having lunch with the man wasn't something he imagined, but he tended to be impulsive sometimes and let things flow. Walter cleared his throat and took a quick sip of his tea to wet his lips, but choked on a small leaf of mint instead, coughing loudly, getting the attention from the entire restaurant. He raised a hand, telling him not to worry, but Killian just watched, mildly amused, waiting for him to turn purple before reaching out to help.

Walter managed to control himself before further embarrassment, but his confidence was far gone. The waiter showed up with their dishes at the right moment, and asked if the boy was alright, Walter laughed it off and turned his attention to the food. The risotto was an explosion of flavor and texture, he took his time eating it, to enjoy it longer and to delay the conversation. The way Killian broke and maimed then poor lobster made him anxious, the man was making a display of power, throwing glances at him that said “this could be you”. Walter was, most of all, disturbed by the reaction it had on his groin. He had been pretty aware of his sexuality for a few years, slobbering over movie stars and Asian idols of all genders, but Killian's rugged handsomeness had escaped him on the first time they met, probably because he was trying to kill him.

He brushed the thought aside and finished his drink, focusing on the busy marina and the coming and goings of the boats. Silence grew after the Italian family left and the food settled in their bellies. Killian was glaring at him again.

“So,” Walter stuttered, “How did you end up here? A fan of Mamma Mia?”

“What?”

“You know, the movie?” He waited for an answer that came as a scoff, “The second one was shot here, mostly.”

“I first came here a long time ago,” Killian surprised him with an answer, “Seems like the perfect place to disappear.” He looked over the island and for a brief moment Walter saw a glimmer of melancholy in him.

“It doesn't have to be like this,” Walter reached out for Killian's hand, the touch felt cold and metallic, the warm flesh was just an illusion, Killian yanked away like he had been shocked and glared at him and his gall. Walter pulled his hand away and hid it on his lap under the table as if apologizing for the intrusion, “The agency needs all the help it can get now, we can make a deal,” he continued, facing Killian without flinching, “you can be an agent!” Killian snickered, the boy was back on his idealism. “There is a way, Killian!”

“Tristan,” Killian interrupted, “don't mention that name out loud.”

“You regret it?”

“No. I don't want people hearing it.” He dismissed and called for the check, paying for the two of them and ignoring Walter's plea to split the bill, “Give them a tip, then,” he said and left Walter scrambling.

The boy caught up to him outside, “You have a whole net of information, knowledge and skills! You can be an asset-”

Killian turned to him, Walter stood just above his shoulder, the people around kept him from wrapping his hands around the thin boy's throat, but the look in his eyes was enough to shut him up, “An asset? Not a person, not an individual,” he forced Walter to back away, “just means to an end.”

“That's not what I meant!” He pleaded.

“I was an asset once, we both know how it ended.” To hammer his point, his eye blinked red. He walked away, but like a lost puppy Walter was right behind him, trying to keep up the pace and follow him home, Killian could lead him to a secluded shore and put him down, but he wouldn't, blaming that his hesitation derived from Walter's contingency plan not giving him enough time to leave the island properly, not the unwelcome feelings stirring within when he looked at the boy strolling beside him, taking in the sights with his blue eyes wide with awe. Killian had to delay the boy for a while, figure out his backup and once everything was settled, dispose of him. “You like museums?” He asked casually, the boy became suspicious for a brief moment, but smiled and nodded.

Killian's car was old, inconspicuous, and perhaps too small for him, Walter noticed, he had expected a slick sports car or even a four-wheel monstrosity, but the size was justified as they rode through the narrow serpentine roads. A quiet and slightly awkward ride, Killian focused ahead, while Walter gazed at the picturesque environment, with most of the main spots set on the coast, inland felt peaceful and still. Everything in the island was quick to get to and soon they arrived at an archaeological museum. While not quiet as big as the ones Walter was used to, the atmosphere sucked him in and soon his eyes were glued to collection of Greek statues and peculiar items, appreciating every little detail and reading every line of text. Killian could've left him there and he wouldn't notice, but the man stayed, watching Walter like he was a piece of the museum itself, the boy's endearing curiosity looked more interesting than any piece of a long dead past he had seen countless times.

As they went deeper the exhibitions became more unique to the local culture, and expanded into several topics, Walter studied them all, blabbering as he wondered around, which at first annoyed Killian, used to the silence of his solitude, slowly he began to answer, talk back. They strolled around the small gift shop, chatting about all the museums they had visited, and Walter bought a miniature amphorae key chain.

The sun had begun to set when they left the building. “Where are you staying?” Killian asked more casually than he meant to. Walter could've just walked home, but Killian insisted, he had to return once Walter was dealt with and clean the room. Unfortunately, Walter wanted to stop and have ice cream at a quaint little shop, and Killian had to wait for him to make the seemingly impossible task of choosing a flavor, and settled on a giant mountain that took over fifteen minutes to eat. The funny way Walter suffered through a brain freeze was almost worth the wait, Killian thought, almost.

The car stopped by Walter's inn. Killian took a good look at the place, mechanical eye scanning for anything suspicious, any foreign signal, hacking into the wi-fi all he found was a history log of websites of English and Croatian recipes and tourists' social media. Walter looked at him with an inquisitive pout, “There's nothing there, just the nice innkeeper.”

“Can't be too careful.”

“How can I convince you to change your mind?” He sat down, making no effort to leave the car.

“You can't. Just leave. Or spend your week here, I don't care what you do, just leave me.” Walter didn't budge, “If you want to help me, that's what you should do.”

“You see, I don't believe you.” Walter turned on his seat to face him, Killian groaned in response, “You had plenty of opportunities to kill me. My contingency plan would just be a minor setback, you said so yourself,” he said, and perhaps Killian had underestimated him. “I think you're lonely, and tired. I think you've been lonely for too long.” Killian reached over him -smirking when the kid flinched- and opened the passenger's door, “See, this is what I'm talking about, avoidance, you're afraid to confront it.”

“You should be the one afraid of me confronting my repressed feelings.”

“So you do admit you're repressing things,” Walter's smug was insufferable. “Look, give me five days, we can hang out, you can show me the island, and you'll see how having a friend will do you good.” The word “friend” cause a weird reaction on Killian, and Walter noticed, it seemed like his mechanical parts had stopped working. After a long moment of silence, Killian sighed and nodded, Walter swooned. “So, breakfast tomorrow? How about it? Eight? No, too early, maybe nine?”

“9:30” Killian conceded.

Walter cheered, “Yes! You won't regret it!” He left the car and swung his backpack over his shoulder, the amphorae keychain swinging behind, he leaned over, “Give me a chance, ok?”

Killian didn't dare looking at those pleading eyes, “Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow.” He shifted the gears. Walter ran to the door, taking one last moment to wave him goodbye. Killian drove off, resisting the villain inside him to pull aside and wait for night time to smother the boy in his sleep, as Walter said, he had plenty of chances to kill and he didn't. Now he had to get through the week, the boy would leave with a sad face and he wouldn't have gained any more dead weight in his consciousness. Or so he hoped if he could control that weird feeling in his heart.

Walter dined with the innkeeper's company, the mention of the risotto lead to a long conversation over food and he remembered once again how boring American cuisine is, yet he couldn't deny the craving for fast food when he stayed away for too long. Sure, there were McDonald's all around the world, but none of them did it as greasy and artificially processed like the Americans. The innkeeper confessed that their french fries were the best she ever had, Walter agreed. She left him to his dinner after a couple arrived. He washed the dishes – she scolded him when she found out – and headed to his room.

He hurried to take a shower before the couple and laid in bed, surfing through channels he didn't understand, stopping at an American romantic comedy dubbed in Ukrainian and tried to figure out the words. He turned it off before the movie ended, eyes fluttering with sleep that was hard to come, too much on his mind, trying to find a way to break through Killian. Talking about his past was a big no-no. Tackling his loneliness only seemed to make it worst. Perhaps Walter just needed to show him a good time, show him what he was missing, he knew too well how loneliness settled heavily in the bones and insisted that it was the best, safest way to exist.

A light tapping on the wall behind him caught his attention, he tuned his ears to the sounds of groaning and moaning. He sighed, of course that would happen to him. Passionate words in Spanish were repeated between breathless moans. A tent began to pitch in his trousers. He wished the couple was yelling and howling and banging at the walls, at least that would be funny, but this discreet love making was getting to him. He took notice of the heat in the stuffy room and considered opening the window, but was too lazy to reach it. Frustrated, a hand sneaked down and palmed his bulge, he listened to the man swearing through his teeth, the woman telling him what to do in lewd detail (why did it have to be a language he understood?). Walter tried his best not to picture Killian, the chest hair poking from his shirt, the stain of sweat on his back, his strong arms pinning him against a wall, the smell of his cologne, the shiver inducing whispering, his accent. He climaxed seconds before the couple, his hand muffling his cries, and drifted to sleep as his neighbors had a quiet conversation planning their vacation.

* *

Walter woke up to his phone's alarm clock. Shame spread on his cheeks as he wiped the dry seed from his belly with his soiled underwear and shoved it in a plastic bag hidden in a separate compartment of his suitcase. With thirty minutes to spend, he took a long cold shower to wash away the shame, sweat and inappropriate thoughts. Walter was not one to refuse acknowledging his feelings, a decade of intensive therapy laid him bare to see, but he needed to keep it professional, it was a mission after all and he wouldn't jeopardize it over a silly crush that would fade soon enough, he had it with Lance and that lasted less than a month. He had it with Marcy, and though that one lasted longer, it eventually faded too. “You have a lot of love to give,” his therapist said, it had only been one day, it really bothered how he already had latched on the man, perhaps all that time and effort spent searching for him was just because Walter rather fancied Killian, the trouble he spelled, the last years as a spy got him hooked on the adrenaline of it all. It worried him that this crush was a lot less innocent and more questionable than others.

He would have a hell of a therapy session once he was back home.

Outside, he waited anxiously for Killian. The loving couple walked past him obliviously, arms wrapped tightly around each other as if the wind could blow them apart. The car arrived at 9:45, Walter had no doubt it was on purpose, he didn't mention it, just sat on the passenger's seat with an optimistic smile, “So what's the plan?” His eyes immediately fell on the blue neckerchief expertly tied around Killian's neck, a chuckle escaped his lips, the man became furious with his reaction and reached out to untie it, but Walter stopped him, “don't! It looks good on you,” he confessed, the sun shining on him definitely exposed his flushed cheeks. Luckily, Killian let that slide and kept the little accessory.

He took Walter to a quiet deli where they tasted the local fresh figs, a platter of olives and ham, yogurt, and iced tea. Walter commented on the food, the deli's quaint decor, the beautiful weather, Killian nodded and mumbled his words, but Walter could tell he was listening. He needed to show the jaded man that they could have a pleasant time, and not touch on sensitive subjects, unless he felt comfortable doing so.

Killian noticed Walter wasn't carrying his backpack, which meant the backup was either tied to his phone or time sensitive, he refused to believe it didn't exist at all, the boy was an idiot, but not that much. He could hack the phone as Walter had forgotten to turn the Bluetooth off, but doing so would likely warn him. Having changed his mind overnight, Killian spent their time apart setting his escape, his boat was fueled, his essentials were packed. He didn't have the heart to set explosives around the old house and the yard, so most of the night was spent cleaning every inch of it. His plan was to lure Walter to one of the coves with his boat, give him a quick merciful death, tie him to a boulder, drop him in the water, return to his inn at night, clean his belongings, fake his departure, and finally flee the island. There were witness and surveillance footage of the two together that would give him away, but by the time the body was found he would be gone, and probably with enough time left to mask his signature. The poor, oblivious boy blabbered about Croatian cuisine, unaware that his “friend” was plotting to kill him, the yogurt smudge on his cheek was distracting him so that Killian wiped it with his thumb and licked it before he realized what he was doing.

The pause was excruciatingly awkward.

“Are you done?” He said in an attempt to brush it off. Walter stuttered and nodded. Killian stood up and straightened his clothes, “Let's go then.”

Walter's cheeks were beet red again, the boy had the worst poker face Killian had ever seen, “Right now?”

“I planned something, let's go.”

“Okay. I'll just... head to the restroom real quick,” he stuttered and rushed to the tiny restroom, he splashed the cool water on his face over and over again, and adjusted his pants to stop the uncomfortable tightness and attempted to make it less apparent. He felt perverted, not used to those mature feelings that were suddenly taking all the blood off his brains to other places.

Killian waited outside, sitting on the hood of the car, watching the sea. Walter rushed to the passenger's seat and waited for him to drive them off, “We're walking down the marina,” he said, gesturing at him to get off the car. He lead the Walter to a pier lined up with luxury speedboats and helped the boy onto one of them, Walter shivered as he held on to Killian's right hand, rough and cold (despite being the real one), tripped and nearly fell to the water if the bigger man didn't sweep him in his arms. Walter couldn't hold his wimpy giggling, Killian helped him on his feet and rolled his eyes.

Walter sat on the nice tanned leather seats, noticing a plump burlap bag under them. He held on to the rail as Killian started the boat and began to set out to sea. “Where are the life vests?”

Killian chuckled, “Can't swim?”

“I can but-”

“Then there's no problem, right?”

“That's not why we have to we-” He was interrupted once again as his body was pushed against the sea by inertia when Killian sped up. The boat bounced on the waves, after a brief moment of fear, Walter began to enjoy the sensation of speed and the cool wind rushing on his skin. He stood up and watched the trail of white crests and the water spraying against him. Killian curved tightly, the boat swayed, Walter swayed harder, laughing nervously. He was used to speedboats that felt like rocket ships flying over the water's surface, too fast to do anything besides keeping his butt glued to the seat and a white knuckle grip on the handles.

Killian kept throwing surprises at Walter, delighting on his yelps and nervous laughter. He looked over his shoulder, the kid had raised his head, the way his soft brunette locks swayed in the wind, and how he opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. Killian was so focused on making the boy have fun that he almost missed his destination. He shook his head and snapped out of his trance. The boat slowed down and made its way back to the island, nearing a bay with a cave, the waves stroke high on the rocky shore walls. Killian shut down the engine and let the waves take them further in.

The cove surrounded them in, soon the sunlight disappeared behind the jagged rocks and only remained reflected in the sand under the water, casting a hazy blue light that bathed the darkness and shaped the rocks into living abstract paintings, fluctuating with the rippling water. Its magnificence left Walter stunned for what it seemed like an eternity. After a while he reached for his pocket and pulled his phone, wanting to capture the moment, even if the lenses were only capable of capturing less than half of all that beauty.

The screen wouldn't lit up. He pressed the power button over and over again in vain. He turned to Killian, bathed in dark blue as everything else, only his red eye broke through the darkness menacingly. Walter remembered his cruel threat. The sudden brightness from a flashlight blinded him. The man had two wine glasses set up on the tiny table, and slowly poured just a tiny bit of wine on each.

“Ki-Killian?” Walter stuttered, and tucked himself on his seat.

“Yes, Walter?” Killian's voice was low and dangerous. Walter noticed his holograms were off, the dull white of his smooth silicon plates reflected the dim blue like the water.

“I think my phone died,” He whispered, afraid of breaking the cove's holy silence.

“Yes, indeed. I set up an EMP device that disabled our equipment.” His casual tone seeped with malice.

“Why?” The word came out as a cry to which Killian chuckled at.

“I don't want distractions bothering our special moment.”

“What do you mean?”

He pulled a minuscule vial from his pocket and showed it to Walter, “You know exactly what I mean, Walter.” He watched the boy recoil on his seat, glancing around, looking for something, anything to get him out of the situation.

“You don't have to do this.” He sniffed, holding out tears.

“Now, now...” Killian opened the vial and poured it on one of the wine glasses. “This won't hurt you, it will only make you sleep, that's all.” He picked up the glass and handed it to Walter, the boy picked it up and stared at it. “You can make this harder, but it will only make it more painful in the end. This is the most merciful way.” Walter hesitated, “Hurry up, boy. The next tour here is in an hour and I want to have time to prepare your body.” His feet tapped at the burlap bag. Walter looked down at the glowing water. “I can't have you floating here, obviously, but I needed a spot away from any oblivious tourist or a random fisherman to get you nice and heavy. A shame, but consider dying here a courtesy.”

“We had a deal!” Walter's cries echoed a good couple of seconds.

“You made a deal with the devil, kid. You know they don't work.”

Walter stiffed a cry, he couldn't start sobbing now, he had to change the man's mind, he knew Killian wasn't sure on that decision, he could sense it, or maybe he was just desperate, maybe the man was too far gone to be brought back. He kept his eyes fixed on the ripples of the i luminescent water until it began to enthrall him, “I tried, all these years, to see you,” Walter confessed, “They wouldn't tell me where you were taken, I don't know why, I don't think they trusted me after I let you live, maybe, I don't know...” He digressed, “One day I got the chance to access Joy's, the director, computer and got your location. She almost terminated me when she found out, if Marcy didn't stop her, they had me investigated. They thought I wanted to break you out, but I just needed to talk to you. After I learned about Kyrgyztan I knew you weren't like the others,” He turned to Killian, the man kept his serious frown, but his red eye turned as blue as the water, “you weren't doing it for money, or notoriety, you did it because you thought it was the right thing, but they lied to you. Lance, your people, they all lied to you, didn't they?”

He expected Killian to kill him right there, lunge at him and snap his neck like a butcher to a chicken, but the man was still, Walter could only hear his breathing growing heavier. “I wanted, needed to see you, tell you that you had someone to talk to if you wanted, strike a deal maybe,” He shrugged, “I finally convinced them to schedule a visit, a week after you escaped. So I kept looking for you, cause I couldn't bear seeing you do something bad again, or being captured, or...” He trailed off.

Killian's metal hand wrapped around his and pulled the wine glass away. He emptied it on the water, then reached out under the boat and the console lights lit up, his holograms returned. Walter blew the breath he was holding, the dampness around added to the sweat that clung to every part of him.

“Why do you go through so much, risk so much, for me?” The stern man asked with a vulnerability never seen from him before.

“I don't know, but I know I don't want to give up on you.” He stood up proudly, “so if that angers you, then just kill me right now.” He opened his arms and offered himself to Killian, but the man ignored him and sat down on the drivers' seat. Walter wobbled when the boat started and sat back, taking one last look at the mesmerizing cave as they retreated.

The boat slowed down to a halt farther away from the coast. Walter panicked for a bit, Killian was bound to be volatile, to change his mind and kill him then and there, disregarding the other boats that dotted the ocean around them. He watched the man from behind, a hand ran through his hair and squeezed the back of his neck, a long sigh of frustration, “I apologize for my behavior,” Killian said without facing him, he stood from his seat and turned to the island, the steep coastline, the green hills above seemingly shifting with the wind, he shook his head and returned to the conversation, “Everyone I ever trusted stabbed me in the back, literally sometimes,” he chuckled at the sad joke and finally faced Walter, “it makes me furious how easily you trust people, I want to torture you, and break you, and take that brightness out of you and maybe then you will learn,” he towered over Walter, blocking out the sun, his metallic hand grasped at his thin throat delicately, almost caressing it, but the boy sat still, biting his pink lips to keep them from quivering, “but I can't bear the thought of you turning into me. Perhaps you'll be lucky, perhaps you're better at surrounding yourself with good people, I couldn't, because I was never like you.” The grip tightened, but still not enough to cut the air, the metal was warm from the sun, “So full of life and joy.” He let go and slumped down next to Walter, his shoulders bearing heavy anguish. The boy scooted closer and laid a hand on his back, feeling the fabric damp with sweat.

“Then will you let me be that good person you need?” Walter's voice was soft and careful, he locked eyes with Killian.

The man couldn't resist his gentle smile, “You're stubborn, kid.”

“Mom always said my stubbornness would take me further than my intelligence.”

“It will also get you in trouble,” Killian's chuckle was surprisingly endearing. The wind peaked and relief washed over them. Killian stood with a grunt and started the boat. Soon they returned to the pier and Killian had to help the clumsy kid again.

“It's almost noon, should we have lunch?” Walter's innocent question left him baffled, after all had just happened he expected Walter to rush off and buy a ticket to the next ferry out of the island, instead he acted like nothing happened, again. He decided that at this point, Walter wasn't simply naive, he was forgiving, which might be the worst form of naivety.

Killian chose the busy, noisy restaurant packed with tourists with a purpose in mind: not being in a quiet, intimate space with the younger man. The few times he made the mistake of dining there he would always be seated in between a family of -at least- four children, and drunken college students, so he couldn't be more peeved when the waitress winked at him and lead them to the table at the farthest corner, a tight curved booth sheltered from sun by beige curtains that cast a golden, romantic glow, under the painting of two lovers kissing on a gondola. Walter seemed oblivious, standing uncomfortably close to him as he asked for help understanding the menu. The waitress sly smile was infuriating.

She had also brought two wine glasses, and Walter didn't stop her when she poured him some. Killian grunted with disapproval when he held the glass by palming the bowl, “Have you ever drank wine?” He tried not to sound condescending, but failed.

Walter nodded sheepishly, “I had some a few times.”

“The proper way.” Without reproach he took Walter's hand, noticing how soft and small they were, and properly positioned them on the lower half of the stem, “Your palm affects the temperature and taste, so don't hold the bowl.” Walter nodded, thoroughly paying attention to him, cheeks flaring. Killian took his own glass, “Now swirl the wine lightly, and observe the way it moves, its texture...” He swayed his wrist ever so slightly, watching the way it moved, the way it reflected the light, and lingered on the glass. Walter followed, swirling it a bit too much, “Softer, Walter,” he instructed, “it helps activating its flavour. Now smell its aroma, let it stimulate your tasting buds.” Walter stuck his nose inside, and looked to see if Killian disapproved, he didn't, doing the same despite how awkward it looked. “Now take a sip and let it linger around your tongue, feel it warming up”. Walter did so, the wine tasted deliciously, Killian had selected it himself, but he wondered if all of that etiquette was even necessary. It didn't matter, Killian seemed peaceful and thoughtful and enjoying himself, that mattered the most.

Walter wanted the lunch go by silently, munching on the mouth watering garlic bread and taking sips of wine whenever Killian had his, which left him feeling a bit dizzy and silly, giggling at the two parents on a table farther away trying to get their kid to eat the vegetables, he had always thought it was just a cliche joke from movies and TV shows, as he never gave his mother any trouble and actually enjoyed eating his veggies.

They both had a delicious dish of fried fish, and Walter needed to have a petit gateau with vanilla ice cream “in order to continue living”. He couldn't tell -but Killian could- that he was beyond just “dizzy”, and that was his second glass of wine he was finishing and that Killian was making him drink some water, and that they've been there for more than an hour, the man's arm resting on the booth over his shoulders, and he leaned against that strong chest, laughing after remembering the movie he watched on the previous night, and how the dubbed laughter was so awkward and off sync, then trailing off to narrate his neighbors' sex talk in Spanish, with Killian leaning closer, shushing him while trying not to laugh too. His sobriety rushed back in to stop him from confessing of masturbating to Killian's image, and jolted him back to self awareness, pulling himself away from the taller man's form and the smell of his body spray because they were so damn close, nearly cuddling, and he barricated himself up in a stall in the restroom, hyperventilating for about five minutes, and swooning when Killian came in and asked if he was alright.

Walter looked at the silent man with sad puppy eyes when his car stopped before the inn. Was it over? Did he push his buttons? Did he embarrass him? “Sorry, I didn't notice I was drunk.” he whimpered.

“It's alright, now go on, get your swimming trunks...”

“What?” He stuttered,

“You said you wanted to go to the beach.”

He did? “I did?”

Killian rolled his eyes and nodded, “I'm going to the store, meet me at the boulevard, alright?

Walter's pout turned into a smile, he nodded and rushed out of the car and into the inn, quickly and loudly running up the stairs and to his room, beaming with joy. He changed into his swim trunks, flip-flops and a sleeveless t-shirt, and made sure to refresh on his deodorant.

Killian stopped at the overpriced tourist trap, his broad shoulders struggled to walk in between the racks and rainbow corridors of clutter. He stopped by the beach towels, his eyes stopped at a gray one with gray details, perfect. He continued the search for Walter's, ignoring the annoying toddler squeezing a noisy toy, and a little kid that ran over his shoe and stained it with sand. He narrowed the choice down to a baby blue one with white cartoon jellyfish, or a yellow one with cartoon seahorses, and he wondered if they had any with birds.

Never once did he stop asking himself: what the hell am I doing?

But he persisted, and left the store with the blue towel (selfishly, cause he liked jellyfish more even though Walter seemed like a seahorse kind of guy), and two plastic sunglasses that were more expensive than they should be. He had sunscreen in his glove box.

Walter was waiting for him with a smile that just seemed to get bigger and bigger as the day went by. Killian noticed how thin his arms were, like twigs, his light tan lined up just below his shoulders. He gave Walter the towel, he looked pleased, which made Killian feel rather accomplished. He knew his sartorial knowledge never betrayed him, so of course the sunglasses looked great on the boy, pitch black lenses and a thick, yellow frame. “I look cool,” he said, and Killian tried not to smile.

They reached their destination after a quick drive and hiked down a hill along with a group of tourists that Walter quickly befriended, his thin little arms wrapped around Killian's because his flip-flops weren't made for that rocky terrain. The beach of Stiniva lived up to the hype of being Europe's best beach almost immediately, a gorgeous cove sheltered by two rocky walls that let in just a small lagoon of pearly azure water. Walter eyed the pebble with suspicion, following Killian to a nice spot, though there weren't a lot of people, the beach itself was quite small. They set down their towels, Walter palmed and kneaded it like a kitten, “I always thought pebble beaches would be very uncomfortable, but it's alright,” he said and took of his shirt.

The sight stirred the stern man, Walter was exactly how he expected to be, pale, thin, but his work in the agency had his lean figure become more defined and svelte as if he kept in shape, but did not bother to build his muscles to an athletic figure. Thankful for his sunglasses, Killian couldn't take his eyes away from the young man as he spread the sunscreen around his torso, down his belly, over his legs, pushing upwards to his slender thighs and down to his cute feet. When Walter attempted to reach his back, Killian pounced at the opportunity, perhaps a bit too quickly, “You want me to help you with your back?” He tried to sound casual, Walter's face was flushed, but he couldn't tell if it was because of the heat.

Killian could only use one hand, but the cool touch (how could his hands be so cold?) was enough for Walter to shiver from head to toe, and arch his back with an embarrassing moan. Killian made sure to be thorough, but it turned into a massage, basking at the skinny man that melted like butter under his touch. He didn't dare reaching beyond the swimming trunks that were already low hanging enough, but his eyes lingered every so often on the round little bum. He was sure he was looking famished to anyone that might be staring, but he didn't care.

Walter stayed lied down on his stomach for a while for two different reasons, both of which he was really embarrassed by, so he pretended to be getting a -much needed- tan. He looked at Killian, the man had untied his neckerchief, but kept his shirt, only unbuttoned the top buttons and the boy was upset he couldn't see as much as he showed. It just didn't seem fair.

“You're not feeling hot?” He asked, head resting on his hands. Killian shook his head, eyes glancing at the water. Walter looked over his shoulder, was he staring at the two women with plump bottoms playing on the water? He couldn't tell with the sunglasses. Then he noticed the sweat marks on his shirt, “are you shy?”

Killian turned to him, furrowed brows glaring over the lenses, “yes” he said and sat down, away from Walter.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to, I mean you probably have a great body, so...” he trailed off when he noticed what he had said, but Killian ignored him.

Walter took a dip in the cool water, the beach was for the most part too shallow to dive into, but calm enough to float peacefully, so he stayed in for a long time. Eventually he got into a volleyball match with some of the tourists, while Killian watched from the shore, smothering the part of him that wished he could join and rip off the arm of that imbecile looking, bleached blonde surfer that had laid his filthy hand on Walter's shoulder and was sliding it down to his lower back and making him giggle, and he wished he had a laser in his eye so that his staring could literally kill.

But Walter soon returned to him, with that smile that imbued Killian with a deep peaceful feeling that lightened the oppressive weight in the marrow of every bone, washed away the ever constant pain that plagued his ruined body. He couldn't, wouldn't, deny his feelings for that young man that did what even the most beautiful place he knew didn't: Walter had brightened his world, like a blazing comet, crashing onto him so abruptly, so unexpectedly, that it was almost disorientating, frightening even. He was beginning to lose sight of who he was, and he couldn't be more thankful for it.

He stood aside, stealing glances at his object of desire as Walter used the outdoor shower to wash away the salt and sand. Then as they climbed the hill, something took over him and he took the lithe boy on his arms and carried all the way up, Walter's arms clinging to him as the blushing young man couldn't stop giggling, which only made the task harder and better.

“The girls told me of a party going on tonight, we should go!” He exclaimed between giggles.

“I think I need some rest,” Killian confessed as he sat by the wheel, his shirt drenched with sweat clinging to his skin.

“Alright. You can leave me at the inn, then.” He sounded upset, but understanding.

Killian took him somewhere else, veering off the main road to an even tighter, narrower street surrounded by thick vegetation and vines. They arrived at a small villa, bright and well maintained, the sun glowing lively in every white brick scrubbed clean, the vegetation grew over the building, vines wrapped around columns, pink and yellow flowers brought some color to pop over the white and green.

“This is your place?” Walter took in every detail, how it was all impeccably arranged as if it was set in display, prepared to have photos taken.

“Yes,” Killian answered. He asked Walter to take off his flip-flops by the door and did the same with his shoes. The interior was a mix of modern and traditional Mediterranean furniture, and perhaps even cleaner and tidier, almost to an eerie vibe, it seemed like no one lived here and they just walked in on what was supposed to be an unoccupied rental location. Walter was conflicted, obsessive organization or home invasion? When it came to Killian, he couldn't tell what was more likely. Killian knew Walter was doubting him, his house was always clean, but just the previous night he spent hours getting rid of any sliver of his DNA or evidence that anyone ever lived there, and he realized how stupid and useless all that effort even if he were to kill the boy, but he wasn't thinking straight, he hadn't been thinking straight ever since he let Walter leave that alley alive.

“How did you get a place like this?” Walter asked.

“I worked for it, fair and square.”

Walter narrow his eyes at him, “by work you mean...”

“Stealing and killing, yeah, yeah, get off your high horse,” he meant it as a joke, but Walter was visibly shaken and offended.

“Killian!”

“Oh, c'mon Walter!” He shrugged it off, “I didn't steal from a homeless person, I didn't kill a factory worker with a family. I killed scum. The world is better off thanks to me.”

“That's the kind of attitude that we need to change if you want to join the agency!”

Killian rolled his eyes, the agency thing was still on the table, as if this was all one long, elaborate job interview, “Well, why don't you go check Sterling's record then?”

“We're not talking about Sterling here!” That was the angriest he had seen Walter. Of course the boy had a soft spot for the cocky agent, and suddenly anger began to simmer thinking that the two might've been in some sort of relationship beyond work partners.

“Oh so he gets a pass because all his killing was done under the government's wing?”

“He doesn't get a pass!” Walter spat, “and Lance never bragged about killing people.”

Killian laughed a hearty laugh that really got to Walter's nerves, “maybe to you he didn't.”

“Besides we're talking about you right now!”

“So let's talk about me!” He threw his arms in the air, “Do you really want my resume? Want me to laid it all down to you? Maybe make you change your mind about me?”

“I know what you've done! I read it all!”

“Then you should know better than thinking I deserve any sort of redemption.”

Walter began to tear up, “Again with this? I thought we talked about it already!”

“So stop acting surprised when I say I killed people to get this house!”

“I just don't like your tone, you act like its a joke!”

“Well I have to! Because before this I spent a year sleeping on an attic covered in black mold, in the middle of the coldest place in Poland, eating spoiled leftovers,” he growled, desperate traumatized eyes locked on Walter's blues, “I was used by people that had leverage on me, that took the opportunity that I was on the run and destitute and desperate enough to do anything, to let them take me anyway they wanted...” he choked, “You want to know how I _really_ got this house, kid? You want to know the humiliation I went through?” Walter was afraid, he wanted to stop him, but his hands hesitated. “How I was blackmailed by this bastard Italian mob boss to do whatever she wanted, satisfy whatever sick, twisted desire she had. I let her use me, I let her abuse me and display me like a slave, until I snapped her neck and took everything she had.” He too a long, dragged out sigh, collapsing on a bean bag, a distant gaze fixed on the ceiling, remembering, “and I thought of you, I thought of you in that submarine being blown to pieces just because I wanted to laugh at somebody else's hurt. I could've killed her earlier, but I felt like I hadn't suffered enough for that, I still don't think I did.”

And suddenly Walter had laid over him, hugging him as tightly as he could, crying profusely on Killian's chest, sobbing, shivering like a little lamb. Killian wrapped his arms around him, and nuzzled his face over Walter's soft hair and smelled the sea. The boy tried to form words that sobs buried, Killian shushed him gently, softly caressing his back “You don't have to say anything, Walter. You were right, I've been lonely for too long.”


	2. Save Tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: brief dubcon

They laid on each other's arms until the sun had set. Killian eventually got Walter to calm down and lulled him to sleep. He laid the boy on his bed and -after unpacking his things- took a long, cold shower, washing the salt and sweat from a body that had been mistreated for too long to still be standing, and he felt guilty and sorry for it. He heard a sleepy groan coming from the bedroom, Walter stretched in the comfortable bed like a kitten, his faint groans had Killian drooling, picturing himself on top of him, running his hands and lips all over that body.

Walter turned to the man standing by the bed, struggling to see with his puffy eyes, Killian wore a fancy black shirt that fitted him perfectly, sleeves rolled up to show those tone arms, Walter stared and didn't bother pretending he wasn't. “Go take a shower,” Killian said, rather amused at the open flirtation, and pointed to the bathroom, “We don't wanna miss the party.”

Walter looked at him with concern “Killian-”

“Don't,” he interrupted, “have a shower, take your time, feel free to use anything. Then we'll go out to dinner.”

Walter sniffed and sat up, “can we stop by my place first? I wanna change.”

“Sure,” he said and let Walter have the room for himself.

Killian's shower was one of the fancy ones, and Walter welcomed the strong spray cooling off his body. He went through Killian's products, his body wash, shampoo, conditioner, moisturizer, exfoliating soap, while Walter was glad the man had a self care routine, it all added to his self consciousness about his body and he wandered how far did it go, if it existed even before his body had to be reconstructed. Walter decided not to overstay his welcome and only used the body wash and shampoo. He dried himself with a fluffy towel from the counter and dried his hair with the dryer. A glance at the large bathtub stirred his imagination to a scenario he had no time to indulge on. He left the room and found Killian on the kitchen with a glass of whiskey, he offered to Walter, after a brief hesitation, he accepted a tiny sip, the taste was foul, but the burn was nice.

“So...” Walter stood close to him, watching the ice melting on the glass. Killian took a sip, his silence meant he didn't want to talk about what Walter wanted to talk, so he changed subject, “Your shampoo smells good.”

“It's sulfate free.” He said, Walter giggled. “You're surprised I care?”

Walter nodded and accepted the offer for another sip, their closeness and sharing the same glass was making him nervous. He stood just above the man's shoulders, and raised his head to look him in the eyes, their wet lips lined up.

“I was lucky my hair wasn't fully burned out, so I decided to care of what I had left.” He chuckled at the boy twisting his face at the flavor.

“That's a good thing to do, self care is important.” He said and licked his lips.

Killian then leaned over and pressed his face on Walter's head and inhaled the scent, “You didn't use the conditioner.”

“I didn't want to intrude.” Walter muttered, talking was difficult, he took the risk and laid his hands on Killian's chest, but the man took it as a sign to back away and Walter regretted.

“I said you were free to use anything.”

“I know, but...” He shrugged.

Killian finished the drink with a hiss.

“Aren't you driving?”

“It takes a lot more than this to impair me.” But Walter didn't seem convinced. “You wanna drive then?”

“No... Go ahead, those roads are too narrow for me.”

The night was hot and humid. In his room, Walter noticed he hadn't packed anything as fancy as what Killian wore, so he went for a mustard yellow shirt, the clean jeans, and his cologne, then spent a minute by the bathroom mirror combing his hair and freshin' up, hoping Killian would appreciate, and he enjoyed the lingering glances from the man as he returned to the car. Killian took him to the first restaurant they had lunch together, the same waiter greeted them, leading the couple to a free table outdoors where they could enjoy the faint sea breeze. Killian suggested gin and tonic to cool them off and Walter accepted, hoping the alcohol would soothe the nervousness growing inside him, they couldn't pretend that nothing was happening between them anymore, and Walter had never gone that far with anyone, he didn't know how to approach a situation like that. He wanted Killian to lead him, but he would find himself throwing flirty gazes, leaning over the table to be closer to him, struggling to find something to talk about, but too afraid to hit something sensitive, he didn't know Killian well enough besides all the trauma, but he desperately wanted to.

They had, surprisingly, pizza: mushrooms and the classic margherita. And a conversation finally started as they went on about all the unique and weird flavors and combinations of pizza they had, ending on a friendly argument about pineapple, Walter was in favor, but Killian vehemently disliked it.

“Aw, I miss Lovey so much!” He cried in the car, head leaning out the window, watching a flock of birds flying inland.

“Who's lovey?”

“She's my emotional support pigeon.”

“Ah- what?”

“Like a emotional support dog... but a pigeon.” He continued like it was a common thing to have, “You should get an emotional support pet, they are wonderful, maybe a cat?”

“I had a cat,” Killian said in an almost nostalgic tone, “He ran away.”

“A dog, then?”

“Can't stand their barking.”

“So a pigeon might be just perfect!”

“Was that the same pigeon that dropped a bomb on me?”

Walter laughed, “I don't know, maybe, there were a lot of pigeons that day...”

Millions of questions went by Killian's head, but he didn't dare asking any.

The party took place at an old fort built on a hilltop overlooking the Adriatic sea. Lights and sound were set up around the open area surrounded by trees, the effect the lights had on the skeletal branches created a cool, hazy atmosphere. The party goers gathered before the stage where a DJ played pop music or by the bar, dancing, chatting, wearing ridiculous tropical themed shirts and Killian scoffed at every single one that he came across.

Walter followed the man to the bar, where he ordered another gin and tonic, but the boy's eyes caught on a fizzy drink that glowed a blue as bright as the cove's water, the top of it blowing white vapour, and he needed to taste it. Killian's nose wrinkled as he stared at Walter slurping down the the overly sugary beverage through a straw. Then a very cheerful girl placed plastic Leis necklaces on both of them, which Killian kept because Walter's giggling at his grumpiness was too endearing.

Then the DJ played _“that song”_ and Walter took Killian by the hand and lead him to the dancefloor. The young man was already feeling the booze and the tourist's infectious hype had him dancing without a care. Killian refused to dance, but kept to Walter's side possessively towering over the boy. The song changed to “that _even better_ song” as it seemed the entire dancefloor lost their mind. And Killian started to really like that song, or at least the effect it had on Walter, as he swayed his thin hips and raised his hands to the air, the tight shirt pulling up and revealing his tantalizing belly glistening with sweat, so lean, so cute, so sexy. And Walter followed the rhythm, moving closer his partner, Killian carefully laid his hands on his hips and Walter turned, and leaned back on him, blue eyes closed in ecstasy as the song built up and the chorus hit and him and the crowd chanted loudly “do what you feel now! Electric feel now!” So Killian took the advice and ran his cold hands under Walter's shirt and caressed his torso and Walter hissed at his icy touch and arched his back, brushing his bottom against the man's crotch. Walter twisted to touch Killian's face, so the man turned him and pulled him impossibly close and their lips connected in a messy, hungry kiss, and Killian noticed that Walter had no idea what to do, so Killian pulled away when the young man ran out of breath, but was so desperate to keep going. The look of “did I do it wrong?” on Walter's face was heartbreaking, he pushed Killian aside and ran off, disappearing among the zombiefied tourists enslaved by the rhythm.

Ten minutes later and Killian was scouring the fort for Walter, regretting giving him some space. He found the forlorn boy surrounded by a group of girls all drinking the same blue drink, with him finishing his own. The girls shielded the boy, but Walter broke through them and hugged Killian as if yearning for his protection, they glared at the older man before leaving. Killian took him by the wrist and took them away from the party, the boy fumbling behind.

As they stopped on a quiet space by the fort's brick wall, Walter threw himself on Killian in a desperate hug, laying little kisses on his neck, while Killian combed his fingers on the soft locks. Walter trailed his kisses to Killian's lips and they kissed softly. “I think I love you, Killian,” Walter slurred, the words fell flat on the man's ears, deafened by the rush of blood running through him, going down. The stronger man held his prized possession tightly against the wall, clawing at his shirt to keep him from running again. “I think I really love you,” Walter repeated, his lips red and puffy, “Yer really hot, ya know?” Killian's hands dived to grab Walter's ass, the boy yelped when Killian pushed him off the ground, and wrapped his thin legs around the man's hips. Killian carried him to the car as Walter nuzzled on his neck, giggling.

They maneuvered clumsily inside the tight space, lowering the passenger's seat so Killian could lay over Walter's small frame, manhandling and pining the young man underneath in a display of strength and control, kissing him roughly until he gasped and begged for air, digging his teeth on his neck with the intent of leaving a mark, to tell the world the boy was his and only his. Killian pulled him mercilessly, Walter started grinding against his crotch, riding him, head bumping on the roof, eyes fluttering, spinning, spinning hard.

Walter faltered, stopped, lurched forward and threw up on Killian's chest. The man swore, opened the door and pushed the boy off to the side, Walter continued to puke on the grass, with Killian patting his back. The man moved to the driver's seat, and off the car, where he unbuttoned his shirt and yanked it off. Walter's vision was still spinning, he couldn't help but to slump on the bench and stay as still as possible, too out of it to even notice or care about the situation.

Killian opened the trunk and grabbed a new shirt, discarding the soiled one to the side. He returned to Walter, raised the seat up and turned him on his side, then closed the doors and rushed back to the party.

Minutes later he returned to the driver's seat. Walter was a limp, sweaty lump next to him, the boy moaned something, Killian sat him straight and pressed a bottle of water against his lips, Walter took slow sips, he reached for the bottle and poured it over his head, but Killian stopped him, forcing him to drink some more.

They sat in silence for a long time, Walter hanging by the window, Killian's hand caressing his back lovingly. The thumping music echoes came with the wind that had started to pick up, a storm was brewing down at the sea, it could be felt in the air. “Are you still nauseous?” Killian broke the silence, Walter pulled himself in and shook his head, Killian reached over him and he pulled the man in for a kiss, groaning with frustration when he rejected his advances and instead pulled the seatbelt over him.

The car stopped before the inn and Killian took the boy in his arms. He grabbed the keys from Walter pocket, the boy began giggling again at the touch, calling Killian a perv. The man struggled to climb the narrow stairs, shushing Walter's uncontrollable chuckling. He laid the drunk on his bed and pulled of his shoes, smiling at his striped white and yellow socks and regretting not choosing the beach towel with the same colors. He ignored the boy's slurred attempts at flirting as he removed his shirt and tucked him under the covers and piled the pillows so that Walter was inclined. “Aren't you going to kiss me?” Walter said, his baby blue eyes fluttering, Killian couldn't tell if he was trying to look enticing or just heavy with sleep. He kissed the boy on the forehead and waited by the bed until he drifted to sleep. Killian admired how stunning he looked, his lips settled in a soft smile as if he was having a pleasant dream, his long eyelashes, the ups and downs of his chest.

His eyes stopped at the purple mark on that thin neck, shame and regret laid heavy on his heart, he was moments away from ravaging that innocence, from taking advantage of his eagerness, his inexperience with those strange feelings, and deflowering that vibrant young man in a crummy car while he was drunk, perhaps drugged even, like a cheap whore. The sickness in him wanted Walter to get drunk, he never stopped him, he wanted his guard down, he had to take _something_ from the boy that he could never get back.

Killian left the room. The stocky woman standing at the lobby startled him, she threw an angry and suspicious glare at him, eyeing him from head to toe and huffing with disapproval. “You better not break that boy's heart,” she said in Ukrainian, “or not even God will forgive you.”

With that grim warning in mind, Killian drove away.

* *

Walter woke up to the sound of rain, his window's shutters fluttering lightly with the wind that crept into his room with a haunting wail. Outside low dark clouds shrouded the hill, the white stone walls took a dull grey tone. An ache pounded on his forehead, an awful taste lingered on his dry tongue, he was parched, the water bottle on the bedside table felt like a miracle. He laid in the dark, watching lighting flash in his small room, his phone told him it was noon, he couldn't remember almost all of the previous night, but had a sinking feeling that he really messed something up. His reflection in the mirror was unkempt and sullen, he noticed the aching he felt was from a vampiric bite mark on his neck, and a bruise on his arm, a faint blurred vision of Killian on top of him, a tight grip on his wrists over his head, plunging on his neck and the sharp pain. He felt ill.

Walter washed his teeth to rid of the bad taste and padded himself with a damp towel, he reeked, but somehow a shower didn't seem appealing to him, he settled on a lot of body spray. He met with the innkeeper on the hallway, she handed a glass of a green sludge and ordered him to drink, he did so hesitatingly, the strong taste was a combination of orange, carrot, spinach and god knows what else. She laughed at his disgust, “that man is outside” she said with a frown. After dressing up, finally getting to wear his hoodie, he dragged himself downstairs, the innkeeper looked at him, “don't let him take advantage of you, yes?” she said and returned to her duties.

Killian waited in his car across the street under the heavy rain, Walter watched him there, staring at the wheel. He ran and entered the car, startling the driver. “How long have you been waiting for me?” He asked.

Killian shrugged, “an hour I guess.”

“You should've come inside!”

“I didn't want to wake you,” he sounded frail, his voice so low it was almost deafened by the heavy rain on the roof, “we need to talk.” Walter held his breath and nodded. “Last night...” He licked his lips, “I took advantage of you, I got you drunk and manipulated you...”

Walter remained quiet, his hand brushed the hood away from his wound, Killian's reaction to it showed just how much he regretted, “I don't remember much of it, but I wanted to get drunk...”

“That doesn't matter,” he interrupted, “I let you go overboard with it, because I wanted to have you, I wanted to take you, and I didn't care how.” Walter began to tear up, “if you didn't throw up on me I wouldn't have stopped.”

“I threw up on you?” Walter raised his voice, “Sorry...”

“No!” He shouted, “Don't be sorry! You have to stop doing that! Stop blaming yourself! Stop letting people abuse you because you hope that they will regret it and maybe become a better person!” Walter flinched, Killian's voice rang loud in the small car, “Be angry at me! Be furious! Slap me on the face! Spit on me!”

“I can't!” Walter shouted back, “I just can't! It's not me!”

“Well, maybe you should change, then.”

“I know!” He gasped for air, “I really want to be angry at you, but I can't! I'm upset. I'm upset at myself for acting like it was fine, that I could trust you...” He trailed off, the tears began to overwhelm him, “I want to trust you, because I think I love you, but you got so much wrong...”

Killian already knew it, but hearing from Walter was a punch in the guts, “This isn't love, kid.”

Walter choked on a sob, “Whatever it is, I can't shake it off.”

“Then perhaps you should leave.”

But the stubborn boy shook his head, “No. I don't want to.”

“You can't fix me.”

“At this point I don't think I care,” he confessed, “I just want to see this through.”

Killian groaned, frustration giving him a headache, “Are you some sort of masochist?” Walter's chuckle felt sad, tired, “A masochist and a sadist don't make for a healthy combination.”

“You're not a sadist, Killian. You're just confused, as confused as I am,” he said with a maturity that surprised Killian once again, Walter noticed, “I'm not a stupid kid, you know? I've been aware of how much danger I've been since I landed. I just didn't expect to feel things I've never felt before, and to feel them over you.” His voice lowered, he sounded like someone else, with a brooding expression as he watched the raindrops crashing on the hood, but his eyes glowed brightly amidst all the gray surrounding them. “Love or just some weird masochist lust, I want to keep feeling this, even if it's a mistake, even if I get hurt, I wanna see this through, with you.” He looked Killian straight in the eyes and for the first time the man was intimidated by that tiny bird boy. “So, we have two days left, do you want to keep doing this?”

Enthralled by his conviction, Killian nodded.

They sat quietly, listening to the storm fading, the trembling thunders becoming distant hums, Walter's hand laid on Killian's, soft fingertips caressing the cuts and blisters on his knuckles. “Are you hungry?” The man broke the silence. Walter nodded.

The italian restaurant was quiet and small, several racing posters hang on the walls, a special interest on Ferrari with its miniature cars displayed on shelves. Walter was secretly thankful Killian didn't order any alcohol, and they both sipped on refreshing iced tea.

“This is kinda awkward,” Walter said about their silence, Killian nodded, “more awkward than our first lunch together...” He reached out for the garlic bread and his hand touched Killian's, he chuckled, “Wow, this is so cliché.”

Their dishes arrived, Walter struggled to twirl his pesto spaghetti around the fork and frowned at Killian's amusement. The man found the boy eyeing his vibrant puttanesca dish with interest, so he showed off a bit, twirling the pasta with expertise and raised the fork for the boy, Killian swooned internally at Walter's expression of surprise, the way the pink in his cheeks flared so quickly as the man fed him the delicious noodles.

The atmosphere eased after that, Killian taught him how to plate the spaghetti right using a spoon, and even reached out with a napkin and wiped the green sauce from Walter's cheek, teasing him for being a slob. “Their gelato is great,” Killian mentioned in passing, as their plates were taken away, “The pistachio, in particular.” They shared large portions of pistachio, chocolate, and strawberry. Walter ordered a brownie that Killian had to finish.

The rain had thinned when they left the restaurant. “There's not much to do here when it's raining,” Killian commented. Overhead, rays of sunlight crept through the black clouds reflected on the puddles and the raindrops on the stone walls glistened like pearls .

“I'm still a bit tired, to be honest,” Walter confessed.

“I can drive you back to your inn.”

“That's not what I meant,” He said with a childish pout.

“What do you want to do, then?”

“We can stay at your house and chill,” he tried a cool shrug, but was too much of a dork to get it right.

“Chill?”

“Relax!”

Killan's shrug was cool, but the man was nervous. After his monstrous sin, the fear of making another mistake had him walking on eggshells. Walter's apprehension seemed to had dissipated over their lunch, the boy was being touchy again, his skin was like porcelain, so delicate, those thin lips pursed Killian wanted to kiss them, carefully. He knew his monster was slow to wake, every little thing Walter did was another drip of his sanity down the drain.

The house had satellite TV, they watched a British quiz show and came out knowing more than the contestants themselves who were more concerned with making jokes. Killian knew plenty of weird, unexpected facts, even some random celebrity gossip -mostly from the 90's- that he would answer on a whim and regret immediately when Walter laughed at him. “What do you expect me to do on days like this besides watching TV?” He presented his excuse, but Walter just nodded with a sly look on his face, he had spread himself on the bean bag and Killian wanted to get on top of him for a hungry make out session, but he kept his hands to himself, deciding to let the young man make the first move. Walter was throwing glances at him like he was waiting for something too.

When the show ended, Walter stood up abruptly and sat next to the man on the couch like a cat that's too scared, but can't control its curiosity, he waited for permission, so Killian raised his arm over the couch and smile at the way he scooted over, his cheeks still had a strong crimson tone, despite the new tan that did wonders to his already wonderful eyes. The arm slid down to embrace the boy delicately, they snuggled closer, and closer. Killian gave him a proper kiss, sober, wholly passionate, he held the smaller body tightly, without digging his nails on his skin. Walter had his soft hands on his chest for balance, slightly tugging on his shirt whenever he rushed to catch up to the experienced man. The kiss deepened, their tongues clashed slowly, Killian led him patiently, he could tell from the trembling his partner was nervous and he pulled away when the inexperienced boy wanted to keep going despite running out of breath, he kissed Walter's cheek, his neck, the bruise as if apologizing, basking on his little moans and cries. Killian's large hand settled on a thin thigh and the soft body shuddered violently, the strain on Walter's pants was obvious, but Killian didn't dare touching it.

Walter pulled him for another kiss, hungrier, rougher, his hands clung to Killian like a anchor to keep himself from floating away with delight. He noticed the way the holograms glitched and distorted when he ran his fingers through the man's hair, noticed the strange sensation of silicon, and Killian's expression of shame, the way he hesitated and almost pulled away broke Walter's heart. “Turn it off,” he whispered, Killian's eyes went wide, his mouth lingered open, “it's okay, you don't have to be ashamed, turn it off.”

Hesitatingly, Killian pressed against the small sensor on his neck, his eyes pried away from Walter as the hologram dissipated and showed his true face, his scarred, deformed skin covered by silicon plates and the exposed mechanical eye. Feeling his vulnerability, Walter pulled him to a hug and laid kisses all over him, and Killian felt as if he was being blessed, as if every touch of those soft lips were taking the pain and the ugliness away. That foreign feeling came flooding in, too much, too fast, he pulled away, gasping for air. Walter pulled back too, scared of having done something wrong, Killian grasped at his hand to keep him close.

The torturous sob that escaped from his lips choked him, shook his body, as if it had been stuck in his throat desperate to be free, to let all the years of repression rush out of him like a tsunami, with Walter's hand on his back coaxing him with little caresses, Killian let the waves break through the shame, the fear and pride, and flow freely.

Crying was disgusting, Killian thought, he was sweating, icky, itchy, tired, and his right eye -the only one that could produce tears- stung, but it was a cathartic experience, specially with Walter by his side, crying together, “empathy” Killian had read the word on the dictionary, but never truly felt it neither as a reaction, or as an object of. It was rather reassuring, even if embarrassing, as Walter leaned to kiss his tears and he pulled away, the boy nestled on the crook of his neck and they embraced to the sounds of their breathing settling, and the soothing white noise of the rain.

Killian's fridge was empty, he rarely prepared anything at home beyond a light salad, so they had to go out for dinner. Crossing through the mud that had drenched the streets and a bit of a traffic jam, Killian's mood somewhat soured, and Walter did his best not to appear bored. A quick drive by the first restaurant and he drove straight ahead after seeing a line forming by the door, the second one had deceived them by appearing empty from outside, but the saloon was packed full of tourists with too much pent up energy after a rainy day. Walter's presence made everything easier, Killian thought, he would never wait on a queue before, but anytime he started to grow frustrated, Walter would take his hand and squeeze it, as if saying “hang in there”. The boy went on to list all the pigeon facts he knew, and Killian listened, the twenty minutes on the queue flied by and they had a mildly interesting meal that wasn't worth the wait, Killian's lamb wasn't as rare as he liked it to be, but he hated complaining about his food on restaurants. Walter didn't much care for his dish either, but kept it to himself, the brownie and ganache they had for desert made the entire outing better.

They took off on the cool summer night, wandering aimlessly around town, stopping at a bar with live music, drinking iced tea and sodas. Walter wanted to dance, but Killian didn't find it to be a good idea, “people will stare,” he said.

“I don't care.”

“You should.”

Walter left the bar with the pout of a spoiled brat.

“Do you want me to drive you back to the inn?”

“Can I spend the night at your place?” Walter asked with a lot more gall than he ever expected from himself (sober, that is), and blamed his impulsive nature. “I mean...” he tried to find an explanation, but it was too late, he said what he wanted, even if in between the lines. Killian's stomach stirred, he nodded as casually as he could and they walked back to their car. Thunder boomed over them, the clouds rolled slowly towards the ocean.

At the villa, Killian surprised Walter by inviting him to dance. At the sound of 80's synth pop they started slowly, holding hands and staying at a distance like an awkward school dance, side-stepping like rigid robots. The coastal groove began to clear their inhibitions, Walter was the first to pull himself against the taller man, and Killian watched him swing his hips and feel the song, the way he swayed was different than at the party, a bit dorky, off beat, gone was the raw sexual heat from inebriation, Killian liked it more, it felt more like the Walter he came to fall in love with. “Could this be really love?” He thought. He had loved a man before, but the years of mourning had outnumbered their years together, and the love turned into a bitter memory.

Walter stared at the distant man, he had stopped moving altogether, so the reached out to kiss his jaw, and Killian woke up from his trance and took his lips to a deep, needy kiss, as if they hadn't kissed in a long time. He took Walter by the hand and led him to the bedroom. The young man could feel his heart pounding, he was sat on the bed with Killian beside him, the man kissed his hands like he was royalty, then his neck, and Walter felt his hoodie too stuffy, he gasped for air, and Killian sensed his need to cool off, unzipping the coat and pushing it off his shoulders, Walter shrugged it away to the floor. Killian's glacial hands gave him a much needed relief as they sneaked under his shirt and ran over his torso, Walter shuddered and gasped as it grazed his nipples, but the heat was still too much, a pressure pipe building up inside him. His own hands grasped at the sheets. When Killian palmed his bulge, he jolted and pulled away.

“I'm sorry, I don't think I'm ready,” he cried, turning away from his partner to hide the embarrassment. He wanted it so bad, why couldn't he just do it?

“It's alright. I want to do this right,” Killian replied softly, without any frustration, it eased Walter's mind, but they didn't have much time left. After all of that he had forgotten he had to leave. “Do you want to take the bed?” He asked and stood up.

Walter watched him for a while, seeing a softness to the edges of Killian's sharp features, his impeccable eyebrows perked with a question, and the boy realized he was staring for too long, “we can stay together?” He asked with a clump in his throat. Killian nodded.

On the warm water of the large bathtub, powerful jets massaging his back, the scent of chamomile in the air, Walter tried to relax, but he kept worried that his mouth would call for Killian, that his hand would reach out and take hold of that part of his body that seemed to be misbehaving quiet a lot lately, and he thought how he wanted it to be Killian's hand instead, and it could've been if he wasn't such a coward. He left before he lost control of himself, and left the steamy bathroom clad in a pink robe, Killian didn't try to hide the fact that he was lusting over the boy parading around, and his shyness, how he raised and pulled on the cloth every time it raised or bunched up and revealed his slender tights, his blue briefs, his shoulders, his pronounced collarbone, that gorgeous angel acting like a prude Victorian lady only made it more exciting, kinky. Killian locked himself in the bathroom to take a long, strenuous shower and watched all his pent up frustration and lust flow down the drain. He returned to the boy considerably calmer.

Later, Walter was lying on the large bed, coyly covering himself with the bed sheets as he stared at the man in his black, silk pajamas take the space next to him. The lights went off, with the moon hidden by the clouds the couple was in pitch black darkness.

“I can turn the bathroom's light on if it makes you feel better,” the man asked in the dark.

Walter nodded before realizing he couldn't see it, or could he? Did he have night vision on the mechanical eye? “Yeah, okay,” he muttered and felt the man's weight lift from the mattress, soon the bathroom's mirror's lights were own, serving as a dim beacon in the darkness. Killian's silhouette was tall and imposing and for a moment, as it walked towards him, Walter wanted to run off the room and into the light.

Killian laid back down, almost at the edge of the bed, giving the boy as much distance as he seemed to need. The silence dragged on, neither of them able to shut their eyes. Walter's panic began to ease, overpowered by his desire to be close to the man, with his hand, he noticed the long distance in between them and realized Killian was almost falling off the bed. “Come closer,” he whispered, after a couple of seconds, Killian shifted and bumped on his hand. Walter scooted closer, paused, and leaned over his partner's side.

When Killian felt the young man's breathing on his skin, he raised his arm to let him snuggled on his chest, and Walter eagerly did. Killian cradled him, caressing his arm, kissing the top of his head, inhaling the calming chamomile scent. Outside, the wind brushed on the vegetation, the fluttering sound filled the eerie silence, they drifted to sleep on each other's arms.

* *

Walter woke up alone, his fingers lingered on Killian's space, the blinds filtered the sunlight through sharp lines that crossed the room. The boy hugged the pillow, their scents were basically the same, chamomile, and milk and honey. He almost drifted back to sleep, but dragged himself out of bed and washed his face on the bathroom.

The house was empty, Walter felt his anxiety threatening to return, but a sound caught his attention, he followed it to an open glass door that led to a garden where he found Killian under a tree, wearing boots, an apron, and a farmer's hat, he looked almost unrecognizable, lost in the task of selecting the right figs. Walter noticed there were five more trees like that around. “Need help?” His voice startled the usually paranoid man. Killian smiled at him, and Walter could swear that it was all a dream. He shook his head, grabbed a basket of figs from the ground and returned to the house, removing his boots by the door.

They washed the figs on the kitchen sink, Walter took a slice of the fresh, juicy fruit. Apparently Walter slept like a baby as Killian had already gone out and bought groceries, they added the figs and almond milk on a blender for smoothies. Walter had his turn to teach the overly complicated art of making the perfect omelet, and tried not to laugh at Killian trying to break eggs.

Settled at a balcony overlooking the figs trees and vineyards, Killian explained that he had sold most of the terrain to his neighbor, but kept a few fig trees, since he loved them so much. Massive, white clouds shifted in the sky, so tall they resembled cotton candy on a stick. The horizon was hazy and moving with the heat. Walter was still convinced it was all a dream, that he was actually back home and would wake up in his bedroom with nothing but memories. “It's my last day,” he muttered and looked at Killian gazing at a couple of workers in the vineyard. “I have to go to the inn and get my stuff,” he tried to sound practical, “I mean... if I can spend the night here...” He looked a the man again, he was silent, no expression on his face, Walter knew he was repressing his feelings.

“We'll drop by after lunch,” he finally said, “Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere is fine.” he smiled, “as long as it's with you.” he reached out to hold Killian's hand, he didn't move, didn't hold it back, “That whole agency thing,” he squeezed the hand and felt the hard steel, the subtle flickering of the cloak, “it was a really silly idea, wasn't it?”

Killian nodded. Silence permeated. Walter pulled his hand back. The breeze stopped and the heat became unbearable, even inside the house they only found relief under the fans. Walter hated how it was too hot to cuddle, they watched TV apart, with him on the bean bag and Killian on the sofa, their distance beyond physical.

At noon, Killian drove them to a pier-like restaurant where they had lobster and fish, Walter made a mess of his meal, but enjoyed it anyway. They talked about the island, Mamma Mia and musicals, and how, to Walter, Killian didn't like them because he never watched a good one.

He returned to the inn to have a change of clothes and quickly packed his bags, he took one last look out the window and snapped a picture for the memories. The innkeeper pulled him into a crushing hug and squeezed his cheeks like modeling clay, he said his goodbyes before tears began to flow. At the car, Killian wiped a pink lipstick mark from his cheek.

They returned to the piers for another boat ride, and (after insisting they both put on the vests) Killian stood behind Walter, holding his hands and guiding them over the steering wheel, but the boy thought it was more fun to just stay in the back and enjoy the wild ride . Floating far away from the coast, Walter lounged by the deck, Killian massaging his back, sneaking down to his thighs, kneading, daring to see how far he could go just to spook the boy before running back down to his small feet.

“There's no one around,” Walter mumbled, seeing Killian lying beside him, fully clothed, all the other boats were long distances away, “you don't have to be shy.” He watched the change in the man's expression under the sunglasses.

“Perhaps another time...”

“When? In bed?” Walter chocked on his own words. Killian turned to him, his adam's apple moved as if he swallowed dry.

He sat up and began to unbutton his shirt, “I don't want any questions, got it?” he stated and looked at the boy over his shoulder. Walter nodded despite the confusion, but he immediately understood when the shirt fell off his shoulders, revealing a multitude of scars, from his arms and burn marks that Walter should've expected, but what caused his heart to skip was the several thin ones, badly healed, lined up down his back, whip marks.

Killian was staring at him over his shoulder, waiting for judgment. Walter grabbed the sunscreen, “Alright, lie down,” he said, kneeling beside the man.

“You don't have to-”

“Why not? I wanna massage you too,” he flirted with a dorky smile and batted eyelids. Killian was hesitant, but followed the order, lying down on his stomach and letting the silky smooth hands run down his marred back, unbothered by the bumps and rough skin.

Walter was a fantastic masseur. He found every knot, every point of pressure (and there were _a lot_ ), and worked hard on them. Killian couldn't hold his grunts and moans, the boy was spoiling him. He shuddered when the light body hopped over him to put more weight on those specially tense spots. He then went to Killian's legs, but the man turned under him and sat down to pull him for a kiss, hands grabbing the thin torso and pulling closer, skin to skin, wet with sweat and lotion. Their mouths met, bursting with desire.

Mustering immense self control, Killian let Walter lead, despite his inexperience, it all came with primal instinct. Walter's whole body flushed with heat and lust and not long after he was blooming, shouting a cry of relief found on Killian's hand.

The boy was, predictably, a ball of embarrassment. Walter couldn't face his partner, and shrieked when Killian licked the seed off his hand, swatting the man's hand away, Killian laughed and grabbed the young man, pulling him for another quick kiss to share his taste. Walter's trembling hand reached for Killian's crotch, but he moved away, “Don't worry about it,” he said and returned to the deck to grab a bottle of water from the cooler.

“But-” Walter stammered.

“We still have one night left, don't we?” Killian turned to him and handed a bottle of water. Walter looked like he was thoroughly sunburned with bashfulness.

They walked down another gorgeous beach, the calm water a gradient of blues, from the aquamarine on the shore to the deep cobalt ocean. Walter even convinced Killian to pull up his pants and join him on the water.

They sat on the shore, Walter leaned against Killian as they watched the sun disappear into the horizon, the clouds painted with watercolor hues of crimson and purple on the blue canvas of the darkening sky. The warm reflection glittering on the water, rippling at the crests of the mellow tide that rocked the small boats and lazily washed over their feet.

The couple stayed in silence until the last threads of light faded and the dark blue of the sky became dotted with stars. After a while, the cool breeze became rather chilling against their wet clothes, and Walter helped Killian on his feet, the man pulled him for a surprise kiss that he didn't resist, standing on the tip of his toes and clinging to broad shoulders, Walter was spinning by the time he returned to the surface.

They dined fried fish and chips at an outdoor restaurant nearby, the silence was comfortable, they shared glances that spoke more than words, as if they had been together for years and years. Killian left Walter at a gelato store and headed for a nearby drugstore, both too embarrassed to go in together, but neither said a thing. Walter wondered down the boulevard with a small cone of pistachio, and stopped at a souvenir store where he bought a miniature and a cartoonish map of the island.

They met by the car, Walter giggled when the man leaned over to take a bite off the ice cream, getting a kick out of those little out of character things he did on a whim contrasted with his stern manners, and how Killian himself seemed confused by those actions as if he had lost control of his body.

“Look what you did do me,” he said out of fondness and Walter swooned.

“I just helped you see that there's love inside you,” Walter squeezed his iron hand, and Killian rolled his eyes and turned to the car, but Walter knew he was just trying to hide his real reaction.

The closer the car got to the villa, the more Walter's anxiety grew. They lingered by the living room, circling around each other, hoping the other would take the first step. Walter didn't know how to do it. Killian was scared to.

“So...” Walter muttered, breaking the tense silence, “How-” He bit his lips, “Should we?” he gestured randomly, hoping Killian would take the lead, but before he could say anything, the boy ran his hands over his salt-matted locks and realized he desperately needed a shower.

Walter took his time. He washed himself twice, and finally used the exfoliating soap and the moisturizer. He stood naked before the mirror, scrutinizing every bit of his body, he was never that self-conscious about his appearance, and had to convince himself that Killian wouldn't judge his body like that, that he was willing to do it despite Walter's inexperience, the boy could never give him enough pleasure, he knew Killian wasn't hard at the boat, that maybe he was doing all of this to satisfy Walter more than himself, maybe he was doing it out of guilt. Opposing thoughts fought a war in Walter's head, but it was too late to turn back, he would give Killian his best, and maybe his eagerness would shine through his lack of talent.

“I think I need a drink...” He confessed to the man lounging at the living room, classical music echoed through the house.

“Are you sure?” Killian said without judgment.

“Just a little bit, to take the edge off, please?”

Killian opened the bar and took two shot glasses and topped them with whiskey. They toasted awkwardly and turned the glasses in one quick motion, both twisting their faces at the taste, Walter himself shook violently, like a bird taking a bath.

“One more?” He said, despite the roughness of his voice. Killian indulged him, the second time was just as awful as the first.

“I feel like I need a shower too,” the man said. Walter nodded and staggered to the sofa.

Killian faced the blurry naked form at the mirror, he couldn't dare to wipe the vapour away. Walter had ran his hands over all his scars, had showed that he wasn't disgusted, and he couldn't have faked it, Killian felt his stiffness when he had straddled his body during the massage.

But the main problem relied on Killian himself. Despite having that gorgeous boy twisting under his thumb, that beautiful thing so warm in his hand, Killian himself didn't get hard, he had moved away before the boy could feel it, he couldn't bear to make the impression that he wasn't taking pleasure out of it, because he did, immensely, Walter was a magnificent sight and he was humbled and thrilled to be the young man's first experience, but his old body refused to share that kind of pleasure, too abused, too traumatized to answer to pure love and adoration, and that realization was enough to see himself crumbling on the bathroom's floor.

He feared that the years of cruelty had distorted his perception, his way of giving and receiving pleasure, he feared that he could not give Walter what he needed, comfort and caring. He surely didn't give it on the night he abused his partner, but that night he was as hard as the steel in his arm, relishing at his partner's dazed disposition, at the sin of taking and not giving.

“I just helped you see that there's love inside you,” he remembered those words. Killian shook the intruding thoughts aside and opened the pill bottle he bought at the drugstore and hid in his pocket. He stared at the tiny blue pill, ashamed that he had to take it.

Walter stared at the large bed, the condoms and the lotion at the nightstand. He let the robe fall from his shoulders and to the floor. He laid down, and tried some poses, lying down on his stomach and presenting himself like a turkey dinner, ridiculous. He tried leaning on his side, facing the bathroom's door, but he couldn't pull off the seductive look. So he found comfort under the covers, pulled just above his hips and waited for his lover to come out.

Killian froze at the sight. Walter looked at him with a puzzled look, as if saying “is this alright?” and it was more than alright. He approached slowly, not hiding the obvious desire in his expression, the smirk like he had just caught Walter doing something intimate on someone else's bed and was about to scold him in the most inappropriate way possible.

Killian surprised him by pulling himself under the covers too, and Walter scooted closer, allowing the man to run his cold hands all over his body, Killian worshiped every inch of him, kissing his way down, disappearing under the sheets and showing Walter unknown pleasures with his mouth. Killian took his time torturing the young man in the best way, reaching the edges of arousal before pulling away and leaving him breathless, mindlessly lost in desire, constantly shuddering at a release that never came.

“Please, Killian.” He begged.

“What?” The older man teased.

“I need you.”

“I'm here.”

“No, more, I need more.”

“Tell me how.”

Walter moaned and hugged the pillow as Killian worked towards their final goal. “You know what I mean! Don't make me say it!”

“I don't know what you mean,” the man delighted on the little squirms.

“Take me! I need you to take me!” He cried in a perfect tune.

“Take you how?”

“Just fuck me!”

Killian paused. The boy knew swear words!

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He turned Walter on his back and watched his eyes for any sign of doubt, but all he saw was a needy, pleading pout. The pill had taken effect and Killian's arousal was hard enough to almost forget it was artificial, but as he lined himself with his partner, he had to remind himself that his feelings for Walter were as real as they come. Patiently, he ensured that Walter's discomfort was minimal, listening, watching, waiting, fighting back the growling beast within that yearned for blood.

The ecstasy overwhelmed the young man, his senses flaring, the pain almost knocked him out, nails dug on steel and flesh, but he persisted thanks to Killian's gentle motions, the soothing words of encouragement whispered in his ears. He could tell how much control Killian was mustering, from the crease of his frown, to the sweat on his forehead. Walter ran his hands on the chest hair that enticed him days ago, Killian looked so good on top of him, his muscles glistened, hardened with every thrust, his growls reverberated inside Walter's body, his hands held him steadily, but softly. Somehow, and it felt deeply disturbing to realize, Walter was thrilled by the possibility of the intimidating man losing his grip on his primal desires and ravaging him to pieces.

Neither of them lasted long. They ended in a sweaty pile of entangled limbs, hard breathing, still clinging to one another as if they needed to ground themselves after such divine experience. In a dreamlike state, Walter followed Killian to the bathroom and they both settled on the bathtub, the jets working at full capacity. The young man fitted perfectly on Killian's lap, they kissed lazily, eyes fluttering with sleep, until Walter thought it would be funny to dip a lot of the soap and the bubbles piled up and overflowed, and they tried to build shapes with it, Killian ended up with a long bubbly beard, pretending to be grumpy because it made Walter laugh harder. They dried each other and collapsed in bed naked, Walter resting on the Killian's broad chest, on the last moments of consciousness, neither of them thought of the day that was to come.

* *

Killian watched the boy sleeping for over an hour like a meditation, clearing his thoughts, his worries, he focused on Walter's breathing. When those big cerulean orbs revealed themselves and glanced at Killian, the man could swear his mechanical bits short-circuited, he pulled the sleepy boy to his lips and laid a brief good morning kiss. Another hour had passed by, at one point Killian slid his hand down, sending prickles up Walter's skin, and brought relief to the young man once again. They shared a shower, neither saying a word, both knowing time wasn't on their side.

He wished they could've spent the whole day in bed, but Walter knew he had to leave, even if he had deleted his contingency plan on the third day, he had to return to work, had to ensure Killian's secret was safe and sound.

For their last meal, they returned to the first place they dined together and even got to sit at the same table, and had the same meals, as if they were desperate of playing pretend that they were back to the first day, but this time they would do it right, this time Killian wouldn't mess up, but time wasn't holding up. They traveled back to the city of Vis, Walter faced the window all the way, trying to burn the memory of the island in his mind and in his phone, fighting back the tears welled up in his eyes. Killian was stone faced, hiding oceans of longing and the desire to take the boy back to his villa and destroy anyone that tried to take him away, but he knew it wasn't fair to Walter.

They spotted the ferry approaching the dock. Sitting on a bench by the bay, they waited for it to unload and start receiving passengers. Walter visibly shaking, Killian with his fists in a white knuckle grip on the boy's luggage, trying to hold back the anger over a world so unfair.

Despite the heartbreak that was to come, they would do it all over again, one more time with feeling.

Walter handed him a folded map of the island, “There's all my emails, both of my phone numbers, my address...” He sobbed, “if you ever need me, if you ever want to see me, you don't have to ask.”

Killian looked at the adorable cursive handwriting. They stood up when the ferry's pilot announced the boarding and the tourists lined up, chattering, laughing, for them it was just another destination to check from a list, to maybe return at a later time.

“We should meet, next year, right?” The boy exclaimed with a hopeful smile.

Killian's expression was blank, but Walter could see through it, he nodded, and Walter nodded back. They stayed side by side until Walter bought his ticket and climbed the ramp to the boat, he kept by the railing, trying to be as close as possible to the shore even though the boat began to sail away, they kept their eyes locked on each other, he wiped the constant tears blurring his vision so he could see the man, his lover, until the ferry left the bay and Walter clung to the rail so he wouldn't collapse or throw himself at sea.

Killian stood still until the boat was just a small dot heading towards the open sea, and faded away. He would later return home to a bottle of whiskey and burn the small map, for he couldn't be part of Walter's life, couldn't bring more suffering to the boy who risked his life, his work, everything for a man that had been dead for a long time.

By autumn Killian would take his boat and be gone. He would watch over the boy from afar like a guardian angel, if anything would ever go wrong, if any criminal laid a finger on him, Killian would scorch the earth after his lover.

Walter took his seat by the window, his fingers running over the island's miniature as if he could trace every place they've been, remember every memory of what seemed so distant already, so unreal. The plane lifted as he repeated the last few days over and over again, all the good and all the bad, and tried not to think of what he could've done more, he did his very best.

He looked at the deep blue expanse of the Adriatic sea below and suddenly a surge of melancholy dawned upon him and he clung to the floppy thin pillow still wrapped with plastic to muffle the sobs that choked him, for he had realized that he would never see Killian again.

He returned home. Lovey nested on the blanket that he wrapped himself around, sensing his sorrow and the need for company. He distracted himself with ice cream and dumb comedy movies, and drifted to sleep with bittersweet memories carved in his heart, that muscle that worked so hard those past few days. He knew that someday soon he would be ready to fall in love again.


End file.
